Miracles Destroy Us
by Verdesilath
Summary: Something's wrong with Petunia Dursley. Harry is left to sacrifice a lot to help her and when he returns to Grimmauld things get worse when Remus did something terrible resulting in Ron and Hermione being happier. Miracles hurt some of us...
1. Petunia's Condition

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, the characters and all the whatnot. I only own the plot and poetry in this fanfiction.

1

_Petunia's Condition_

_No time for Grief_

Harry was in a bout of self-pity and hurt when it happened. It has just been a while since he had come back to Number 4 Privet Drive and Aunt Petunia went to the grocery store as soon as he was inside. She had gone alone; bustling in such a manner as some may when they know where they are going and why and that feeling of purpose is a strong aura around those. Everything was terribly a façade of normalcy, and Dudley, to Harry's surprise, had gone down in size from a baby killer whale to a teenager with quite a sturdy stature. He had visible muscles from all of that boxing and he had come out (to Harry's utmost disgust) quite handsome. He seemed easier on the eyes with his tanned, muscled body and blonde hair than Harry, whose paleness from not being allowed outside along with those odd green eyes and black unruly hair had made him look like a shadow of what resembled a person.

It was too good to be true, in the life of Harry Potter, for to his horror, Aunt Petunia returned two and a half hours later looking ragged. She quickly locked the door behind her and ran inside. Dudley came to give her the "welcome home" hug that had become a habit for him, but she pulled away. This is when Harry realized something might be wrong. Her eyes were wild with a primal fear and she was shaking. Vernon Dursley came from washing up in the bathroom to give his wife a kiss on the cheek, but she shied away, trembling, and squeaked. Vernon and Dudley were very confused and had no idea what to do, seeing that if such a situation had occurred with either of them in Petunia's place, she would have dealt with them. Harry, realizing that something was terribly wrong with Aunt Petunia, put a hand around her back, leading her up to the room.

She followed his lead as if she were a puppet on broken strings. Harry ushered her to her room, helping her lay down. She burst into tears and started sobbing noisily. Dudley and Uncle Vernon were coming up, but he made sure they couldn't get in. It wouldn't be good for Dudley to see his mother this way, and after the way Aunt Petunia reacted to both of them, it probably wouldn't be good for her either.

"Say, what do you think you're doing?"

"Well, Uncle, Aunt Petunia doesn't want to see you." That was the wrong thing to say and Harry only realized how bad it sounded after the words left his lips. "Always the Gryffindor tact, or should I say no tact, Potter?" Harry heard a little voice (that sounded oddly like Professor Snape) in his head say.

"You!" Vernon pointed a fat finger at Harry, "_You_ are the cause of this problem! You used some of your freak," he paused, "_magic_, on her! What have you done? I swear I'll kill you with my bare hands if you don't stop hurting my wife!"

"Dad," Dudley said softly, watching his mother sob on the bed, "I don't think he did anything this time." Harry was shocked at first. Dudley had taken his side! If only this had happened, say, a few years ago. Things would be much easier.

"Then what is it then? WHAT IS IT?" Vernon yelled. He really did love his wife; a lot. This didn't make any sense to him at all. "Harry," Vernon said softly, "Fix her. I don't care how, as long as you don't use any of that freak magic on her, but you better do it. Pay her back for taking you in all those years again, ungrateful brat. No hospital, unless she really needs it, we don't want anybody to think we're _abnormal._" He left, Dudley following, glancing at his father and mother before Harry closed the door.

As Harry looked back at the closed door, the weight of what he had to do hit him full force. Something was wrong with his aunt and he was going to have to find out what. He grimaced. "No complaining Harry," he thought, "She's your mother's sister. Help her out for your mother." Okay, first thing he had to do was make sure she wasn't physically injured. He, steeling himself, took off her shirt and pants. Red lines marked her skin, and then, and then Harry felt like he wanted to vomit. It was all clear now, her clothes in disarray and those marks and the evidence he just saw. Somebody had raped her!

He started humming, ushering her to the shower. She went in and washed up, everything seemed to be fine, accept she was in there for quite a long time.

"Aunt Petunia?" He called at the door, "Are you dressed? I'm coming in." He opened the door to see her sobbing and banging her hands at the reflection of herself in the mirror. She was dressed, thank goodness. Harry pulled away her hands and she complacently stopped, letting him take her into her room.

"Harry," she croaked, "You look so much like your mother. Sometimes I really wish she was here today."

The days worsened from there. Harry had to cook all the meals, wash the dishes, clean up, make sure he knew where Dudley was going and when he'd be back (by orders from Petunia), make sure Aunt Petunia was alright, help Vernon move in to his old room as he became accustomed to sleeping in her room on the floor in case she started having fits, and many more chores as well as trying to keep his uncle calm. Slowly she was getting better; she'd talk more and ask how everyone was doing. Sometimes she cried herself sick and Harry had to take care of her, and as a result of this Harry always looked a little worse for wear. One night that he had nearly been able to get 8 hours of sleep, he had a wonderful dream that he felt was reality.

_ Harry stared at the cold surface of the water. It made him uneasy at how chaotic his surroundings were broken buildings and charred remains of newspapers. It smelled of rotting. Everything was decrepit except for that glassy pool, still and motionless like glass. Harry knew that the water was more than 20 feet deep and that if he dipped his foot in the water, it would suck him in as he would drown quietly. He felt someone's presence. A man sat on a rock, staring at the water as well. His hair was black and fell around his face neatly. _

_"I hate this place," the man said._

_"I hate it too. The water the most," Harry responded, staring at the cool depths._

_"The water? It is the only beautiful and tranquil thing here; why do you hate it?"_

_"That water is a sneak. It lures you to feel safe as it sucks you into a silent eternity where your body will never feel the warmth of the sun again."_

_"So you're scared? I like to liken myself to that pool." He smiled a wolfish grin, "Have you seen the fire?" He gestured behind him. Harry turned and saw it. It was wild and tearing ever closer._

_"Eventually our only way of escape will be to the water. We cannot escape as soon as we get into the water. So, do you want to burn to death or drown?" The fire wasn't destroying, it was purifying._

_"I rather burn, and you?"_

_"I'll drown." _

_"Maybe if we work together we won't have to die."_

_"If one is burned the other may live. I won't do that to you."_

_"I'll burn, if you promise you'll remember me."_

_"Why?"_

_"You deserve to live."_

_"And you don't?" He smiled at Harry and pushed Harry to the ground. He trapped him there with his arms._

_"So beautiful, that you'd do that for someone you don't know." He stroked Harry's cheek. _

_"I'll remember this, and someday you will need me and I'll be there._

Harry woke up smiling. After four letter to the order (12 days passed), things took a turn for the worse.

_Dear Potter,_

_ The werewolf can no longer receive your letter to the Order. Don't worry, your mangy animal friend is alive and well but can no longer have time to receive them due to his new…responsibility, as you are probably aware of. These letters shall be sent to me._

_-Professor Snape_

What was this new responsibility? No, he wasn't aware of it at all! And this letter brought up even more questions that he never had time to think of due to his aunt's condition. Why hadn't he received letters from Ron and Hermione? Was this another thing he wasn't allowed to do, or were they giving him space because of…Sirius? Harry's mouth grew dry. Sirius. He'd never really got to think through anything about Sirius, no time for it, but little things like seeing a friendly dog that could be said to resemble a grim made a whole new well or pain erupt in him. He had made so many mistakes, but that was the past. Right now he had to take care of his relatives.

The questions continued to play in his head, dancing to the music _Danse Macabre_. He wearily placed a hand on his head. Today he was going to try to make Petunia talk about what happened. Her condition was like a wound, and talking about it would disinfect it to pave the way to healing, or more like repairing since the scar would remain forever.

"Petunia," Harry started, chewing on his bottom lip, "Can you tell me what happened?" Petunia's eyes widened and she quivered.

"I want to be strong," she said softly, "I hate being no use to this family; but Harry!

He was blonde too! He…you figured it out. Harry, I can't look at them. And I could barely be around you because he was a wizard!"

"What? How can you be sure?"

"A wand, like yours and he used magic to stop me from moving. Sounded like Portana Usco." She shivered and started trembling and crying. Harry rocked her, humming to her as she started to fall asleep.

"Aunt Petunia?" he asked softly, "Can I tell Uncle Vernon?" She shook her head no, but stopped herself.

"Not Dudley," she said firmly.

"He's going to find out anyway."

"Not Dudley," she repeated. Harry sighed and left the room. Part of taking care of his aunt included having conversations with her daily and finding books for her to read. Oddly enough, she loved sci-fi and mystery novels. Harry was extremely tired emotionally and physically. He wanted to sleep so badly!

Uncle Vernon was sitting in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee that Harry had prepared. He and Harry still had a trust issue, but Uncle Vernon had realized was on good terms with Harry. Harry being the unofficial House Elf had probably helped.

"I found out what happened," Harry said softly, hating the awkward situation. Vernon's hand shook, the coffee almost spilling.

"She doesn't want Dudley knowing but," Harry leaned over to Vernon's ear and told him.

"She…what? She would've told me, not you!"

"He was a wizard," Harry continued, forgetting the Dursley laws, including not saying _those _types of words. His uncle spluttered, "One of," he paused, "your kind?"

"Well, I guess you could say that," Harry muttered, "I'm planning to find out how to get him arrested in our world. Laws against that, you see. All I have to do is find out who it was and get a lawyer for Petunia so we can file charges." Harry was tired. He had given up trying to make it easier for Mr. Dursley. Mr. Dursley on the other hand had not gotten past the man being a wizard part. Harry heard a pop.

"Potter, you are come to Grimmauld Place with your relatives immediately. The wards are becoming contaminated! Take this portkey with your family; I will not be responsible if you don't." Snape apparated away.

"You git!" Harry muttered, as he frantically tried to explain to Dudley, who had come in when the pop had resounded. Dudley got the gist of it and explained it in easier to understand terms to his father. Harry ran up the stairs, followed by both of them and got Petunia to touch it. She seemed to understand what was happening and made no complaint. Harry gathered his wand and values and ran back. A few seconds later, he felt that horrible pull at his stomach. He tried to comfort himself by thinking, "Whatever I'm feeling must be much worse for them." He shuddered as he remembered his first time using one.

"Harry, you look terrible!" he heard a feminine voice say. His world cleared up. Petunia was clutching him as if he was a lifeline as she stared at all of those wizards and witches. They all held that power that they could use to abuse her, ruin her mind, and mess up her life. She shivered. She never wanted that to happen again. Hermione ran over to him, disentangling Petunia in the hurry, and hugged him. Harry looked back at his aunt. She seemed like a little girl lost in a mall, and her eyes held that depth that they did when she was remembering what had happened. Harry pulled away from Hermione; Petunia was first priority. He led her over to Mrs. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley gave her a hug, noticing how bad she looked, and led her into a conversation. Petunia gave her a shy smile as they talked. Harry sighed; that was taken care of.

Dumbledore stood at the door, clad in blue robes, the material fluid and shiny.

"Severus told you of the condition of the wards. Petunia, what's wrong? Petunia froze and Harry ran automatically to her side. He felt protective of her; this is what his mother would have wanted. "The wards could only become contaminated if some event had happened to change the course and bond of the family, for better or for worse, that this new bond became enough to infect the wards." Harry responded by whispering in her ear if he could tell him. She sighed, her body sagging, but nodded. Harry had to stand on toes to whisper in Dumbledore's ears (how was that old man still taller than him?) what happened.

The superb twinkle in Dumbledore's became deadened. He spoke in a clear voice, "No one will bother Petunia about this. I'm sorry, but I have some business to attend to." He apparated. The silence thickened, and the cold of the house filled the emptiness in Harry's blank eyes. Sometimes he felt so alone, detached from the world. Then all his insecurities would nibble at his heart. Why did Snape know something about Professor Lupin that he didn't know? Why hadn't Ron and Hermione write to him? Why did the world have to be so cruel? The worst thing was that nagging suspicion that the person he had talked to in his dreams and had such a fun time with was Voldemort.

Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed. Love all of you,

-Verdesilath


	2. Paying for What You Are

2

Woe

Paying for What You Are

There was something about Harry Potter that she absolutely loathed. When she was abandoned quite suddenly and sent to live with Remus, being the reason _it _happened, she had been much happier. The man was nice, though he held many secrets about some secret organization called the Order. He took care of her, taught her all the little quirks about her new condition and warned her so many times that because of this new condition she either had to keep it completely hidden or become docile. A wild girl who happened to be a werewolf was a dead girl.

Grimmauld Place left her in a state of ennui. Then she met Ron and Hermione. Ron was such a stately, perfectly boyishly normal wizard, and Hermione was affectionate, a bit of a tattletale, but was intelligent. The days alone there while Remus was away, working for the Order, were to be deadened but for them. Both helped her keep up her spirits and feel normal.

However, we must track back to her problem with Harry. He was her bane, someone that caused Ron and Hermione much grief. He had sent no letters, and they, worried that Harry's way of grieving might include seclusion, had sent none in response. How were they to know that he had needed their warm words and happenings to bring the life back into his stressed days? Of course they felt dejected. They had fought with him in the Department of Mysteries, and they had been there when Sirius had died. They knew him as well. Harry didn't seem to care about that though. The other reason she hated Harry whom she had never met was because of Remus. Remus had known this enigma that was Sirius longer than Harry, and Harry, selfish as he was, hadn't thought that someone could be hurt more than he was. If only the girl knew how little she knew of Harry, and even more, how wrong she was. Her name was Linda, recently bitten by a werewolf. After her parents rejected her, Remus had taken her in, and good thing too, because the Ministry was on there way to kill her.

Now would be the first time she would see Harry. Her first impression was that he was quite thin and ragged, eyes dark green, posture lacking authority or confidence of any kind. There was only a raw determination in him. The muggle with him had been quite the looker, and left her wondering how two so closely related could look so different. Now that Dumbledore had left, she got to examine him more clearly. She hated him, everything about him. She ran away to her room before he could see her. She had had more than enough of Harry today.

Hermione looked worriedly at Harry, talking to him in a soft voice coated with velvet as if any other tone would have cracked him like a fine piece of china.

"Harry, we haven't contacted each other much this summer,"

"I didn't have a lot of time to write you," Harry said bitterly. He was tired and stressed, which caused him to have quite a short temper. Hermione was confused by his reaction. "How is she to know? She doesn't know all I had to do or what happened, she only thinks that I'm having problems with Sirius'…demise," Harry thought frantically, trying to calm his wave of rage and discontent.

"Well, anyway, you're here now and that's all that matters, right mate? I guess this time though," he shot a look at the Dursleys, "You couldn't escape _them_." Dudley noticed this indiscreet glance towards his family and decided now was a good time to figure out what was going on.

"Harry, why are we here?" Dudley asked, interrupting the fragile make of a conversation.

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Well, Big D," his eyes were full of laughter, "This is the most glorious house of Black. It was my godfather's home," a lump developed in Harry's throat.

"You mean the convict?" Mr. Dursley asked in a bored tone, seeming to be content about bad-mouthing the man since he was dead. Harry ignored him.

"Some magic was used on my house, it's called wards, that dealt with Petunia being my blood relative. Um, I don't know the specifics but because of what happened they have been…contaminated. You'll have to stay here now. Hermione, is Kreacher still here?" She shook her head yes but then said, "Dobby came here as well when he realized that you were coming to live here,"

"Anything for Mr. Harry Potter sir, anything!" Ron imitated Dobby's voice.

"_Ron_!" Hermione said, clearly exasperated, before continuing, "He's only working over here for the summer. Dumbledore is still paying him, because he says that he is benefiting the Order." Harry nodded.

"Dobby!" he yelled. In a matter of seconds Dobby appeared before him, looking slightly rumpled but overflowing with joy. His large eyes were alight with a passionate glow.

"Harry Potter sir! You is here, back so early! Dobby is pleased to see you, oh yes he is! What is Harry Potter sir needing, then?" Dudley looked absolutely horrified. Mr. Dursley, on the other hand, seemed downright mortified.

"What," Mr. Dursley said, choking on his words, "In the name of God is that?" Dobby looked slightly offended.

"Dobby is a House Elf, sir,"

"Dobby," Harry was having trouble speaking in a calm voice, "These are my relatives. He," he gestured to Mr. Dursley, "Is my uncle, and the other one is my cousin. My aunt is here as well," he gestured to Petunia who was still contentedly chatting with Mrs. Weasley, looking much happier than she had ever been since coming home from the grocery store that fateful day.

"Ahh… Dobby sees sir. You wants me to tour them? You wants me to give them in-tro-duc-tion to the Wizarding world?"

"Right Dobby, please give my uncle and cousin that,"

"Dobby can do that for Harry Potter sir!" Dobby said, beaming, his ears scrunching up as he walked over to Dudley.

"Please follow me sirs," he said. Dudley looked horrified but followed, and his father took his lead.

"We'll see you soon, Duds!" Harry said, waving at them, finally able to be rid of the people he had spent much of his summer with. That reminded him, what was today? Harry, to his horror, realized that he had missed his birthday. No presents from anyone and Snape had been the only one to send him letters. Harry was filled with dread. There was a logical explanation to this, there had to be!

"Ron and Hermione, why haven't I gotten any letters from you two?"

"Not allowed to, mate. After our Ministry escapade, Snape told the order that we obviously couldn't be discreet in our actions which meant they couldn't trust our letters' discretion as well. They actually listened to the git!" Harry smiled in relief. His friends still cared about him, and that was all that mattered.

"Where's Lupin?" Harry asked trying to hide his shame. Instead of being angry at Lupin, he started feeling more inferior to him. It was Harry's fault that Sirius was dead, and he probably deserved to be ignored by Lupin. It had been happening a lot lately. He just couldn't find enough passion in himself to make anger. He was just so tired, and he felt old and young at the same time, naked to the world and scarred by time. Harry realized he had been zoning out. Hermione was biting her lip, eyes gray with worry.

"He didn't tell you?" Hermione asked softly.

"Tell me what?"

"I guess I shouldn't tell you Harry. I mean, I really want to, but it's not really my secret to tell. It's like Malfoy asking the specifics of what happened in the TriWizard Tournament with Cedric and me telling him. You understand, don't you?"

Hermione watched his reaction closely. Instead of raging and saying how the situations were totally different because Lupin was important to him, he just closed his eyes. When he opened them, she shivered. Those green orbs were glowing with an unholy light. He smiled, but the happiness in his eyes was ersatz. This was bad. He was keeping everything inside of him. "Sometimes it is good to have a rage or two," thought Hermione but she didn't know that Harry couldn't afford to rage right now. Hermione decided to start a new conversation,

"Why have the wards been contaminated?" She was going to get this out of him no matter what.

"Not my secret to tell," he said, his smile widening. Sometimes Harry really frustrated her!

"Fine," she sniffed.

"Hermione, is not like I'm just saying that because you said that!" Harry said smartly. What was her problem? Oh the trouble with Hermione. Sometimes she really was apathetic.

"Oh, Harry! Why would I think that?" Her tone was hinted with sarcasm.

"Please be quiet!" Harry really wanted to sleep and he didn't have time for spirited quarrels. He was sure that finding out about the wards wasn't the issue here, it was her angry with _him_.

"Harry, why are you acting so strange?"

"Am I acting strange?"

"Yes! All of a sudden your tough guy with no feelings who doesn't care that his friends couldn't write to him, who doesn't care that someone important to you is hiding a secret from you but not your friends, and who doesn't care that his friends have been worrying about him all summer! You look like you've died and went to Hell, Harry! Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, trying to placate her.

"Don't you 'Hermione' me! I want to know what's wrong!"

"I'm just tired! Can you leave it at that?"

"No, Harry, I can't! Ron and I care about you!"

"If you cared about me, you'd be leaving me alone right now!"

"Oh, Harry, you idiot!" She slapped him, burst into tears and ran out the room.

Harry stood where she left him. Hermione and he never really fought with each other or got into a lot of arguments. This was odd. Was he supposed to be feeling sad? Or was he supposed to feel spiteful? He didn't know what to feel. He just had this aching loneliness inside of him. If only he could tell her what happened to his aunt! She might've been able to understand then. No, it was better this way. His heart strung an odd cord. Hermione obviously didn't want to be around him anymore. She had slapped him, Hermione, defender of the House Elves and the weak, had slapped him. He looked at his reflection on the glass pane above the fireplace.

A glaring pink mark was on his face, and five tiny cuts from her nails. Harry went to the bathroom, cleaning them, and put tiny Band-Aids on them. Ugly, he was so ugly with those thick glasses and pale skin, a frowning mouth and a disgusting unruly shock of black hair. Harry took off his glasses and then put them back on. The person in the mirror was him, whether he liked it or not. He quickly went up to Ron and his room to find a angry Ron standing up, waiting for him.

"What did you _do_ to her? I've never seen her more hysterical. She's _crying_, Harry, crying! You better have a good explanation for this!"

"I," Harry's mouth was dry, "She got angry at me and didn't like how I reacted so,"

Ron pushed him, "Yeah right, Harry, I don't know what game you're playing." He pushed him again. "Now go apologize to her, okay?" "Fine."

Of course Ron would take Hermione's side because of his crush on her. Harry stood up and ran to the bathroom. He felt sick, and he keeled over the toilet, dizzy, holding the rim of the toilet as to have something be stable in his life. He passed out.

Harry was awake in some state of mind. He started to think about the Department of Mysteries. That had been his fault. Nothing was ever going to be the same again. He had endangered many of his friends' lives without a reason. "Well, I thought Sirius was there!" Harry frantically tried to think, "It wasn't my fault!" He knew it was his fault that Sirius had died. Hermione had been right about his "saving people thing" and how Voldemort knew what type of person he was. Instead of saving Sirius, he had nearly gotten his friends killed and Sirius died trying to protect him. He was a burden, an idiot child, and he had a feeling he'd be paying for that escapade for the rest of his life.

The worst part about it was that Hermione had it all figured out, but he was so _sure_ that he had been right at the time that he had yelled at her and told her she was wrong. He had fallen for the trap, hook, line, and sinker. Even Ron had thought it was unreasonable at first. Everybody but him seemed to have realized something wasn't right about the situation. Why? He was smarter than Ron, why hadn't he realized? An aching pit became known in his stomach. It was because of what he was.

When he was little, he had no friends. When gaining them and a mix-matched family he had been furiously protective. Why, it was because they were all he had, his whole purpose of life had been nothing until he met them. This upbringing would have been his end if Sirius hadn't come to save him. He deserved this pain, the consequences for what he did. If Sirius hadn't died, nothing might have gotten through to him. Yet, Sirius didn't deserve it. He really hated himself right now.

Also, what about Voldemort? What if Voldemort sent him images of a man torturing innocent children and people over and over again. If he met that man, would Harry kill him only to find out what a Good Samaritan he was? A shiver ran down Harry's spine. Voldemort had access to his mind because of Harry's foolish pride. Harry no longer was proud, he couldn't afford to be. It wasn't fair! Who said life would be fair? He had made his own grave. If he had been sorted into Slytherin, things would've been easier. "The Sorting Hat knew I would have to be cunning and learn to think with a clear mind when in danger! The Sorting Hat _knew_ but listened to the ignorant rants of child!" Harry thought, horrified. Dumbledore's influence dealt a lot with this. Dumbledore had made sure he had grown up ignorant. Unfortunately, Harry was just smart enough and clueless enough to make this situation fatal. Harry was reaping the bitter fruit.

He could hardly look at Hermione. He didn't deserve friends who were so loyal as to do something they obviously didn't want to do for him. They had suffered because he had made them do what he wanted. He was selfish and arrogant, but not in the same way as his father was. He was selfish and arrogant because of the Wizarding World. He valued his importance too much, but he didn't _know_! Then all the walls tumbled down and he really disliked himself.

Why did Voldemort hate him? Why did he want to cause him so much pain as to contaminate his mind with foreign ideas? He was perfect molding clay for that was how he was brought up and had a lot of power he didn't know how to use. In short, he was dangerous.

Maybe if he had really tried hard in class and hadn't tried to ignore the upcoming problem of Voldemort things would be different. However he had already made his bed and now he must sleep in it. It was too late to change the past. He was stuck with the bitter pieces of worlds he had wanted but when together they made quite a nightmare. He felt so alone. The worst thing about it was that the only person who could understand him was a madman murderer.

In this state of mind, he was naked. He pulled his knees to his chest, splaying his arms around them. There was nothing to hold, only skin and cold. So much emptiness existed in this plane. Harry sighed. He knew he had to leave soon. He could avoid reality but not his memories. Sirius' death would haunt him for eternity if he didn't leave.

Harry woke up. He was still in the bathroom and he noticed (to his disgust) that some drool was slipping out of his mouth to fall in the toilet. Harry recoiled and wiped off his mouth. Maybe he could stay in this bathroom just a little bit longer…

Meanwhile, Petunia Dursley was in the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley. Ron came down for a snack.

"What is it like?"

"What do you mean, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked confused.

"What is it like to have such normal, healthy children?"

"Well…"

"Harry has always been odd and has a problem that Lily did all the way to her death. He has problems with telling others how he feels. He muddles it up and withdraws, just like she did. Even Dudley tends to be part of the darker side of life. He has a gang and I have a feeling that it gets worse than that. They are so screwed up! They have an odd relationship, but they rely on each other though they probably won't admit it. Dudley will push Harry around, but I've noticed he always makes sure not to really hurt him. Harry shoots glares at him all the time and trips him up a lot. However, when they thought no one was looking, I've seen them just sit in the kitchen together not bothering each other. It gets worse from there. Sometimes I feel it's my fault that they both have so many problems."

"Petunia, it isn't your fault. You just have to get a rein on your family, make sure they know whose boss, including your husband."

"Your boy right there, what's his name?"

"My name is Ron." Ron interrupted.

"Ron?" Petunia smiled.

"Yeah," Ron said while fishing around for a snack.

"Ron! What do you think you are doing! She is Harry's aunt so she's part of your family! Be nice to her."

"Sure, uh, mom? Where did the last of those chocolate frogs from Bill go?"

"I think Ginny ate them." Ron frowned, bounding up the stairs yelling,

"Ginny!"

Petunia's smile widened. Ron was important to her because she needed the normalcy. She needed someone to look at and think, "My Dudley could be like that."

Little did she know that Dudley had fallen quite far and Harry was going to be the only one who could help him.

Harry still hadn't spoken with Hermione. He was downstairs now, in front of Mrs. Black's portrait. She had stopped screaming at him a few minutes ago and since she was always screaming about something no one took it as odd that she had started out of nowhere ago. She was watching him with an odd expression on her face. He, on the other hand, was concentrating on drawing something. A silhouette of a lone figure on the beach with the sun a terrible black was the image before him. He was making different shades of gray for the sky, all of them dark. It wasn't great, but Harry needed something to distract his mind. He was humming.

"What are you humming?" Mrs. Black said.

"Oh, something that's been in my head for awhile." She narrowed her eyes.

"That is a song that _he_ would always hum." Harry stopped drawing.

"Who?"

"The Dark Lord, of course. He always said it reminded him of a fire chasing behind him and a large lake that sucks you into it. He said that he was going to die either way so he chose the lake. He always said that people were terrible things until awhile ago. He told Kreacher," she whispered, "That someone was willing to burn for him so he could live! Of course we never understood what he was talking about, but obviously you know. I've never heard anyone else but him hum that song."

Harry closed his eyes. He was either just like his father or just like Voldemort. Now about that fire, it reminded him vaguely of a dream. He couldn't recall what happened completely, as you only catch glimpses of dreams you had when something triggers your memory, but he didn't like where this was going. A large group of witches and wizards came out of a room. It was the Order! He didn't know if he could stand to see them. He grabbed his stuff and was already up when she said.

"You can't leave! You must tell me what it means! Tell me!" Harry paused. Unfortunately, some Order members had seen him.

"Harry?" one of them asked shocked.

"TELL ME! WHY DOES SUCH FILTH LIKE YOU KNOW WHEN THE FAITHFUL DON'T! TELL ME!"

She was seething, fists shaking. Some of the members started to watch; they had never seen her so angry.

"YOU LYING FILTH! HOW DO YOU KNOW? WHAT MAKES YOU SO SPECIAL?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. You can tell me. At least tell me why you're so important to him." Harry was revolted. He wasn't important to Voldemort. Yes, Voldemort had an obsession with making him miserable and screwing with his mind, but Harry was not _important _to him!

Mrs. Black just realized there was a crowd. She smirked and yelled.

"Why are you so important to the Dark Lord? Why do you know things about him that even his most loyal don't! Tell me!" Harry was angry. This portrait knew he would look bad if she said that. It would raise so many questions. Harry continued to walk away as she screamed, ignoring all the suspicious glances. Then he stopped.

"Do you know the words to that song?"

"Of course not! Why do you think I'm asking you this then?"

"The first lines, I remembered it.

Nor perfectionist raised thy hand and spoke

As leaves fell into hands and died

The sweetest symphony of the heart

Lost its chords long ago." Harry smiled. It seemed so normal to know these words. Mrs. Black however was awed.

"Who _are_ you? What are you to him? That song…" She trailed off, pale and trembling. Harry was confused but continued to walk away.

"Harry!" The voice was familiar. Remus Lupin appeared in his shabby glory. Harry cursed. He had to deal with Lupin now! This day just kept getting worse! Lupin led him into an empty room, using a few charms to make sure no one could listen in.

"Harry, I have something to tell you. The reason I was no longer able to write you at the time is because of Linda." Harry was taken aback by all the affection Lupin used in the name. "She's my cub."

"You bit someone?" Harry said, not thinking straight.

"No, she was bitten recently and I have taken her into my custody after her parents abandoned her. It was my fault anyway; I forgot to deliver some Wolfsbane to the werewolf that bit her."

"What does that have to do with you not writing to me?" Remus sighed, looking wearier than ever.

"Harry, she's my cub. She felt that our relationship interfered with her being my cub, probably because she's about your age. You know werewolves are protective of there cubs." Harry shivered.

"Linda? She's jealous? Is she a twit, then?" All reason seemed to have left Remus. He pushed Harry against the wall and was growling.

"Harry," Why was Lupin talking to him in such a way? Was this what happened when love was not enough? "Don't you _ever_," he tightened his grip as he snarled, "Talk about my cub like that!" He released Harry and left the room after taking the spells off.

Harry felt his lips curl up bitterly. "I've been slapped by Hermione, pushed around by Ron and hurt by Lupin all in the same day. Have I really been sp cruel? Am I missing something? I deserve this then, don't I? Then why do I want to cry? Lupin is protective of his cub, that's normal. I just have to remember that he's irrational when it comes to her. I mean, I'm quite alright, perfectly fine. I'm alright, really."

When Mr. Dursley came back from his tour, his wife hesitantly slipped her slender fingers into his hand. She smiled. Mr. Dursley was content. Something about this place had helped her, and he really did love his wife, despite his tough guy exterior. Harry had fallen asleep on the cold stone of Grimmauld Place. Something about this place was breaking him. Yet, he was convinced he deserved it. At least that's what he kept telling himself. He was finally paying for what he had done, reaping the bitter fruit.

Author's Notes: Food for thought: What if House Elves were all (At an average) about 6ft. tall? How do you think the Wizarding World would be affected? Please review,

-Verdesilath


	3. Two Sides of the Spectrum

**3**

_Periwinkles _

_Two sides of the spectrum: Comedy and Depression_

It was a warm place, with heavenly sunrays agreeably flowing out the window. It truly was a beautiful day. Mrs. Weasley was up and cooking breakfast and Harry was coming out of his room, clutching a nail he found on the floor, determinedly staring out his door. Was he rude yesterday? This time it wasn't his fault, right? He didn't know what to say.

He looked up, suddenly aware at how dark it was on his corridor. Dusty, creaky hardwood floors seemed to slide when he walked. He looked up, suddenly frightened of what was up _there_. He smiled in relief to see periwinkles on the ceiling; green leaves sprawled haphazardly over a beautiful shade of purple. Harry frowned. Who had put them there? It just wasn't Mrs. Weasley's style and he was sure it wasn't that hag's (Mrs. Black) style. Hermione wouldn't have thought to do such a thing while leaving the floors dusty and Aunt Petunia had a dislike of the pale bluish flowers. Who? He heard a creak. Panicking, Harry started to turn around, only to be knocked to the floor, face down, somebody's knees on his back.

Harry's thoughts ran rampant as he tried vainly to move his arms. It wasn't any use though; Harry had left his wand under his pillow. Who was on him? Fear climbed through his stomach, and he started to quiver. Nothing was worse than feeling so vulnerable, so weak! He could scream, but if it was a Deatheater he might get his friends killed. He gulped, his lips rough with the dust and his throat constricted with fear and early-morning thickness.

So, he waited. Five minutes passed. What was the person playing at? He felt someone breathing in and out, asleep! Who was this person? Giving up since the person was heavy and the person's muscles dug uncomfortably in his back, he tried not to gag and fall asleep. It was insane, but he was so tired. "If the person was trying to hurt me, he would've done it by now, right?" Harry soothed himself with that last thought before falling blissfully, though slightly uncomfortably, asleep.

He awoke blearily gazing at something dark. All of a sudden he remembered the absurd situation. It explained how his arm was squished and had fallen asleep on him. The position has slightly changed, but he still couldn't move. Trying to hold back a sigh, he realized that a hand was firmly around his waist. The hand definitely belonged to a male.

This situation was a little more than awkward. If any Order member walked down this hall, he or she might think that they were a couple. The very thought of this led Harry to brush brightly and feel insecure. If only he could move, he could escape! Suddenly he heard creaks. Someone was walking down the hall! The creaks stopped, though he heard an agitating click. Than the footsteps softened and the person was gone.

A groan emitted from the "someone" above him. The person stretched, making Harry feel even more embarrassed before tumbling off him to look him straight in Harry's eyes. It was as if Harry's mind was going in slow motion. Pale blue eyes, tanned skin, a strong jaw made a statement of its own and Harry was furious with this person.

"Dudley!"

"Harry," he said casually, still staring into Harry's eyes.

"What was that? How could you? I was… I was—"

"Frightened? You never realized it was me? Come on Harry, even you aren't _that _slow."

"That doesn't explain why you decided to sleep"

"With you?" Dudley interrupted, eyes dancing with laughter.

"You make everything I say sound disgusting."

Dudley didn't respond. He kept staring into Harry's eyes, making him feel more and more uncomfortable.

"You're pretty weak, even for a shorty like you."

"Shut up you big—"

"It was fun. Even you have to agree with that. You've been walking around like the living dead for weeks. You needed some sleep, and you got some."

Harry muttered something under his breath, about to turn away from his cousin, only to be forced to face him again.

"Harry. Payment is in order."

"And what is it you want, princess?" Harry muttered rudely.

"Tell me what happened to my mom." His eyes were whimsical, too pale, seeing Harry for what he was too well, and he couldn't say "no" to those eyes; heck, in a way he was afraid too.

"No." This is why Gryffndors lifespans were compared to other wizards distinctly as a flobberworms without water.

"Fine." His blue eyes seemed to become colder. "Next time I ask for something, though, Harry, it is good as well as done."

"What for? Because you attacked me so I could get some rest? How crazy _are_ you, Diddykins?" Harry spat out harshly.

"No, Harry. You're doing this for me because at this point in this house, I'm the only one standing in the way of you being pounded into dust by your _friends_."

"You don't know anything, not about them or me."

"Fine, blackmail then."

"You're going to tell them what?"

"All those wonderful humiliating stories of the past so they can pity you more."

"Bastard."

"Agree. You know I know you too well."

"I agree! You scumbag, lying, filthy,"

"Might as well stop it there 'cause you are starting to sound like that hollerin' painting."

Harry shut up, but got up, dusting off his shoulders and clearing his throat, ready to leave. He couldn't leave without looking at the pale flowers brushing the now-standing Dudley's blonde hair. He grinned darkly at Harry, pulling a blossom of a stem, and crushed it in his hand. Harry immediately remembered the nail in his hand. A bit of blood lolled slowly down his hand. Harry turned away from his cousin, walking swiftly down the stairs to the kitchen.

Lupin, Hermione, the Dursley parents, the Weasley children, Fletcher, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Tonks, and Snape sat at the table. Everyone had some French toast, eggs, grits, fruit, and some sort of juice except for Snape who had only black coffee and whose thin mouth was smiling, nose dipped down, greasy hair falling into his face, looking at a picture.

"Eh, good morning." Everyone shakily greeted him, all looking at him peculiarly. He sat down next to Snape, putting a meager portion of grits and a sliced pear on his plate, trying to ignore the fact that the table was unusually quiet and that many eyes were focused on him. Aunt Petunia looked on the verge of a breakdown, and Vernon seemed to be torn at giving his wife comforting glances and glaring disgustedly at Harry.

Dudley came downstairs soon after, sitting next to Harry. Petunia burst into a fresh set of tears. Dudley ignored her, stealing what little Harry had on his plate after eating loads off of his. Harry looked over at the picture that Snape held and dropped his fork. It was a picture of Dudley, tank top falling off, arm around the pale boy beneath him; blue eyes almost closed staring at him. Harry was slightly turned, eyes closed, seemingly very comfortable. Harry blushed, snatching the picture from Snape, before handing it to a bored Dudley. Dudley didn't seem to care.

"Nice picture of us, eh?" Harry was too shocked to reply.

"I think I'll keep it, shows a better side of you anyways." Harry's mouth moved as if to say something, but nothing came out.

"It's not how it looks like," he announced feebly. He now understood that that click had been from a camera. Mundungus Fletcher burst out laughing.

"Nothing, _that_ wrong about your relationship. Though you're cousins, it's not like all the purebloods aren't inbred, and liking boys is just fine,"

"NO NO Nononononononono! That weirdo attacked me and well, fell asleep on me!" That story sounded very unconvincing.

"Really, it's not true! You have to trust me on this one."

"Fine," Hermione said, "Dudley, what do you have to say about this?"

"He's not _that_ bad looking." Dudley said, smiling broadly. Harry wanted to scratch his eyes out.

"Dudley," Harry said softly, "What are you playing at?"

"Don't you think this would be interesting?" Dudley muttered back.

"You're insane. Fine, I'll tell you what happened to your mom, but please, please, set them straight!"

"On your honor."

"Fine, fine, just tell them!"

"Everyone, I was messing with our dear Harry. I attacked him from behind and knocked him out. I kept him there because otherwise he would've pretended he wasn't tired and go around walking in a daze. The picture, however, is a work of art! Who took it?" Ginny blushed and muttered something under her breath, but not without glaring angrily at Dudley. Suddenly the table began talking animatedly and Fletcher walked around in a slight hangover mood.

Harry left the room. It smelled of periwinkles. What was with all these periwinkles? Harry paused before feeling a wave of nausea. He wondered if Hell smelled like millions of periwinkles, all attacking, suffocating, making your senses numb. Pale blue is an entrancing calm color. He knew that. If that was true, though, why was all he could see and smell periwinkle? Dizziness merged into hysteria, and suddenly he was blind from all the blue.

It was almost as if he could _hear_ the periwinkle. A light raindrop sound, echoing into his eardrums, breaking into his soul and then shattering all that must have been real with a quick clean blue, a sharp sound hidden in the light one, the covered edge of the sword drummed through his very essence. It was so cold here. He hated this place, and he was suffocating. The sheer force of insanity thrust into his head, another force that was not he was entering, cracking his mind, taunting, asking to be one with him, saying he was the same as Harry.

Harry was scared to death when he woke up. He tried to move his arms, but they remained stiff, yet he could feel the cold. The bite of the periwinkle burned in his soul. Horror controlled his next actions, as he could not move to save his life. He closed his eyes, trying to calm down, trying to think, and trying to not let depression weep with him over a teapot of tears, trying to remain in control.

Who was he?

Who was Harry, that which was in others' minds or in his mind?

Was Harry anybody?

Was Harry nobody?

Was he _really_ Harry?

And the Boy-Who-Lived, who was that?

Also Harry then, another part of Harry maybe?

He was nobody.

A picture, an idol of a scripted dream;

A crumpled piece of old newspaper, a prolix letter about nothing;

Just him, a disgusting, filthy, creature

A waste of space

Opinions sculpted completely by those around him

For it was they who made him

And it would be they who would destroy him after Voldemort was gone

Voldemort was no longer a man, and man's worst enemy was man itself.

He felt sick. The whole world was caving in on him? Eyes flashed before him; obsidian first. Was that person, the one with the greasy hair, another version of him, a self who hadn't the friends he had? Gleaming red eyes flashed before him; well, this one was easy, this person was another side of himself. He saw a girl with bushy hair and a red-headed boy and was repulsed. Who were they? Could they be him also? He hoped not, he would rather be he, but than again he was what everybody made him? Harry screamed.

Lena watched him from afar. She was always in the shadows; she smiled softly. Her father said it would be cruel to pierce her way into his pretty-rainbow-ed life. He was an ugly boy, a weak boy as well. She shuddered, watching him clutch his body tightly, making striking red marks paint his skin. She disliked him, but she couldn't let him kill himself! She wondered what was _really_ going on with him.

Lena ran to the dining room. The stage was set and once she entered she could not leave until her part was played, which in the end was ultimately death.

"Daddy! Harry is hurt!" Lupin looked up from his hands. Lena guessed that Lupin hated Harry. Why shouldn't he? Harry was a weak, pathetic, bugger. The only reason he was polite around him anyway was because of duty. Lena wasn't a duty upon Lupin. He _loved _her and nobody loved Harry. That was all that mattered anyway.

Lupin ran into the dusty room. Harry screamed, not moving, only pain consistently striking his body. If he woke up now to face the truth that was he, would the results be okay? The stage darkened. It didn't matter anyway. Lena was loved. Harry, on the other hand, was a failure, a weak burden.

Author's Notes: I have procrastinated beyond belief and needed comic relief. All will be explained, don't worry. Just look up all you can about periwinkles (laughs). Maybe you'll understand this more. Then again, I could've randomly picked them and the research would be completely useless. Well, love me anyway,

-Verdesilath


	4. At Fault

At Fault

The Boy Who Did Not Cry

He stayed still, watching Hermione and Ron watch him. He felt aggressive, like an animal almost, and he was tense and fidgety with the urge to strike, and moreover to kill. Snape was there, eyes dilated, or maybe they always looked like that because their unusual clear intensity. Finally, he opened his eyes wide, unprepared for the following clamor. He faintly distinguished red hair, bright, and bushy hair, and a pale face. Words tipped from mouths endlessly and so quickly that Harry was soon dizzied and in a frantic mess of confusion.

"Um…" he mumbled, trying to focus, "Where are my glasses?" The noise ended for two precious seconds, before frames were messily pushed on the bridge of his nose. Harry noticed distastefully that the_ Claro_ charm on his glasses had been broken, and that fingerprints greased the world with splotchy glaring lights. At this point, Harry and Snape seemed to fully see each other.

"Snape. Why are _you_ here?" The pale man stared at him, and at once, Harry felt like he wanted to crawl under a rock. The man was tall, and probably would always be taller than Harry. His hair seemed much less greasy, and instead held a black shine, while his digits were just as long and seemed arched, tense, as if ready to elegantly wrap a young throat, preferably Harry's throat, until the breath had ceased to come.

"I," it seemed like the bustle had stopped just to push Harry to say something, though whatever that something was, Harry seemed to be oblivious. Hermione seemed to be mouthing something. Harry, reading her lips said, "I need to ask for," Harry struggled with the last word, "clemency?" Hermione sighed, shaking her head.

"Potter, you _do _know what clemency is?"

"Of course!"

"Then the definition is?"

"Um, you know, the," Harry cleared his throat, hoping that Hermione would ingeniously tell him in some secret way. He heard a voice, and relief overwhelmed him, that is until he was overcome with horror.

"It means mercy or forgiveness, Harry." Hermione softly said. It suddenly felt like lead bricks had dropped into his heart. His mouth remained slightly ajar; Harry had asked Snape for _forgiveness_! Obsidian eyes, piercing him mercilessly, seemed to taunt him. Harry shuddered, suddenly realizing his mouth felt numb with warmth against cold lips; it was salty, and thick, brittle and full. It was the taste of blood.

Lupin's eyes were full of mirth. Instinctively, Harry felt that he was being teased, and so he rebuked.

"I don't care. You'll die soon, Voldemort _knows_, why, I told him this summer! He thought I was lying, but he knows how I think, and he'll see you, as you are, a nasty, traitorous, git! It will be painful; he enjoys pain from traitors, and he'll laugh to your blood on the pavement, and the funny thing is that no one will care that you're dead!"

Silence is louder than sound. Silence is louder that truthful words, and silence speaks in a way only it can; suddenly you aren't blinded by morale or ideals, suddenly you see things as they really are. Harry did not like what he saw. Ron and Hermione were shocked; Hermione's eyes were gray with disappointment. Arthur Weasley had just walked in, and his lips were disappearing in his frown, and his age was shown in the helplessness of the eyes. The worse reaction by far, at least to Harry, was Lupin's reaction; Harry couldn't read anything in the hardness of his eyes and the shadows in his faded smile. A girl, maybe a year younger than Hermione, tried to hide a grin as she stayed hidden behind the back folds of Remus's cloak.

Snape had left and Harry began to feel ill. He had spoken rashly and now… Harry shuddered. "He deserved it," Harry desperately tried to convince himself, "I didn't _really_ tell Voldemort that! I was just," Harry felt a dull pain in his eyes, "I was just putting him in his place. Oh, what is wrong with me! I am so screwed up!" Now, more than ever perhaps, Harry felt a deep longing for Sirius. Sirius would know what to do; Sirius would understand and help him fix the problem. "But Sirius is gone, and all because of me." Harry sagged into his pillows, pretending to have fallen asleep. He knew they didn't believe him, but they didn't even try to talk to him. He was obsolete.

Harry did fall into a fitful sleep, where he dwelled in a state where he felt unease slowly climbing up his ribs.

Hermione would never understand Harry. It was more than possible that a hysterical, grieving Harry would do such a thoughtless, cruel, thing. Hermione idly looked back at Lena. It wasn't fair. Ron was letting Lena become a replacement of the old Harry without even realizing what he was doing. They couldn't abandon him, not when he needed them most. Lena was laughing, spidery, clumpy, blonde hair tickling the lobes of her ears. Lena was a great person, a down-to-earth bugger that Hermione could relate to. Hermione still felt disturbed. There were two problems about Lena that she couldn't even begin to solve; one being that Lena seemed to dislike Harry, two being that Lena simply _wasn't _Harry.

Already, he was forgetting his responsibilities. How was Aunt Petunia? Of course, he didn't know, since he was being such a self-centered git. Harry cursed himself. Everyone had left him with his bad mood becoming a haze over his eyes, blinding him, and it painfully stayed, much like a hangover. "What am I supposed to do _now_?" Harry thought, clutching a lock of his hair. Dumbledore hadn't even visited, and Harry was left with a painful reminder that he was utterly alone. The periwinkles had been nothing, then. Harry had the oddest feeling, almost as if he had forgotten something, but what it was, he could not remember.

Lupin was avoiding him. It probably had to do with that girl who had all but smiled at him, so evilly mind you, and who he was learning to hate more than the younger Malfoy. Harry frowned at the name. A loud clang interrupted his thoughts. He felt something sharp pincer his ear, cold and sharp.

"Ow! What in Merlin's name is _that_? Curse you, you," Harry tried to turn his head with no avail, and, feeling something heavy and cold fall onto his lap, the grip on his ear loosened. Just as Harry turned his head, he heard wings flutter, and saw, to his dismay, that a particularly large and violent owl had gripped his ear with its obsidian, curved talons.

"Whose owl is this?" Harry could not recall receiving any prior mail from such an owl, but then again, it was more than possible that someone's owl had been hit with Tibista, a new strain of the cold virus that affected owls for about a week before the owl's immune system destroyed it, and that they had borrowed someone else's one for the time being. Harry felt a wave of nausea overwhelm him. "I'm still sick," Harry blithely murmured, trying to ignore the pain. He focused his attention on the envelope on his lap, clumsily grabbing it. It had some familiar Wizarding family crest on its corner, and was neat and white with no worlds on the cover. Breaking the seal, Harry took out the enclosed letter. It had very beautiful script, unlike he had ever seen, but their was a staleness, maybe a fakeness, to its grandeur, as if the writer had had a different handwriting before but was forced to learn to write this way over the years.

Dear Potter,

I have blessed you with such a letter. Anyway, I am finally confronting you about your rude and idiotic choice against my hand in friendship in first year. I require an apology for that cruel attempt on degrading me. I see that you are regretting this choice. It is simple to see why, with the Mudblood and Weasel turning out to be awkward, useless, and incompetent friends for the Boy-Who-Lived. A written apology will remedy this letter writing to you, as I have no use in wasting my time writing to you of all people.

It is standard to talk about something else in a non-business letter, and so I conclude that as rude and as much as I hate you, you are not boring and this summer I have been particularly bored. As long as you don't whine, Potter, go ahead and be my "secret pen pal". That way, my father will believe that I do not know who I am writing to. "Faithless" is what you will call me, and you shall be called whatever you wish as long as you tell me in the answering letter of apology. Never write your real name.

Not so sincerely,

Your Grand Enemy,

Faithless

Harry stared at the letter in shock for two long minutes. It seemed like the "required apology" was an excuse for this crazy pen pal business, all because that pompous Malfoy wouldn't admit he was bored out of his mind. Should he write back? It would be something to do, to ignore reality for awhile, but to talk with _him_? Harry looked back at the letter. Desperate measures were called for when boredom was most prominent. Harry sighed writing a quick letter back to "Faithless."

Dear Faithless,

Your handwriting is completely ridiculous. It was absurdly unfair to make me suffer at trying to translate Faithlessian to English. I will not apologize. You were a prat. Anyway, I am to be called Thestral-Wings. Never mind that. Do you know Voldemort's name means "Flight of death"? And here I am calling myself thestral wings. Well, call me that anyway. I am only, and I repeat, only, writing to you because I am also bored. My friends are not incompetent.

So, this is where the small talk occurs. How are you doing today? I fainted today. You won't believe why I fainted, but it had to do with periwinkles. They nearly drove me insane, and I can't figure out what really happened. I just know I hate that little witch of a girl who is stealing my family away. I fear there is no longer a place for me. My favorite color is gray. What's yours? My favorite creatures are snakes, but that was kind of obvious anyway. Hey, maybe you can get me one, since I know my friends won't. What's your favorite creature?

Don't Keep Me Waiting,

Thestral Wings

Harry's eye twitched. Now that he read his letter over, it sounded like he was needy and lonely. Harry couldn't believe how damning this was, to write a letter to _Malfoy_, as if they were friends. They'd be pen pals that knew nothing about each other. It was their alibi, for Harry realized what a dangerous game he was playing, and how easily he could slip, not to mention fall.

A tapping sound reached his ears. That stupid owl hadn't flown away! Harry nearly laughed when realizing that a violent and impatient owl belonged to Malfoy. It was so cliché. Folding the letter neatly, and hurriedly writing,

P.S. I can't use my owl to send my letters. Any ideas? Tell your owl to behave; I have twin cuts on my ear because of it.

Harry sent the letter off, hoping his hope was neither blind nor misplaced. Harry whispered softly, "Malfoy, I'm giving you a sort of trust, and dear God, please don't abuse it." Harry realized with a sinking feeling, that Malfoy could never have let on who he was and actually played the part of the mystery pen pal. Whatever Faithless was playing at, it was serious, just as was this new complicated sort of bond between the two.

Dudley was looking for Harry. Harry owed him the truth, and it was time for him to pay his dues.

"Harry! Harrrryyyyyyyy!" Dudley, yelled, until he finally heard his cousin muttering to himself.

"My dear, love of my life, _Harry_," Dudley murmured to Harry, smiling when he flinched.

"What is it Dudley?"

"Why so cold to me, my dear?"

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want." Dudley looked at Harry scandalously as Harry rolled his eyes.

"What?"

"The truth. About my mother."

"NO!"

"You promised, Harry." Dudley's voice had a dangerous tone to it now, and his eyes were rapidly paling. Dudley sat next to Harry, taking Harry's pale hand in his tanned one. "Harry," he said softly. "I wouldn't want to have to break a few of your pretty fingers for you to hold up to your honor."

"Dudley," Harry spoke carefully, "She was raped." Dudley froze.

"You lying son of a—"

"I'm not lying. I'm so sorry, but it's the truth, so deal with it. You wanted it so bad, and now you have it. Don't try and play me like you actually care." Dudley turned to Harry, eyes ablaze with torrents of emotions.

"Harry. You know nothing of me. You don't know what I've done and the things I've seen, and you really don't want to know more about me. However, you are crossing a line hear. I am not a fool. Harry, don't act like you know or understand, because you don't. I love my mom, and if you _ever_ speak otherwise you'll have hell to pay." Harry didn't no what to say.

"Dudley. I've been there for your mother for awhile. Just remember that I'll be there for you if you need it. I will speak badly about you if I want, unless you make me understand. Make me understand." Harry was transfixed by his cousin.

"Look at this then." Dudley said, taking off his shirt. Harry gasped. Three deep scars were on his back and odd wounds on his shoulders. A nasty wound, a burn wound covered part of his chest diagonally. Burn wounds look like nothing else, and it is hard to describe how hideous the damage is.

"How?" Harry asked, slowly tracing the scars, causing Dudley to shiver.

"Two bullet wounds by some crazy drug dealers. Knife scars from battles. The burn wound though," Dudley looked away, "My _gang_ was everything to me, but they weren't loyal. Tried to burn me alive in boiling water. Those traitors, they deserve hell." Harry looked at Dudley, taking in what a sight he was.

"Does your mom know?"

"Right, really, rain on her parade that her sweet Diddykins was a naughty, naughty boy?" Dudley said bitterly. Harry didn't say anything.

"Aren't you going to apologize?" Dudley asked.

"No. I just want to say that, I want to be your friend. I want to be there for you."

"You're an idiot." Dudley faced Harry, his eyes wet with tears. Harry gave him a hug, sobbing in the misty-eye boy's chest. Dudley was uncomfortable, but in a way, Harry had stopped Dudley from breaking down, and had taken the vulnerability for Dudley. Heck, Harry wasn't half-bad. Uh-oh, now he had to tell him the truth about the periwinkles. Well, that would have to wait; this was too good a moment. He felt safe, even content. This, what was this?

This was paradise.

Verdesilath: I procrastinate. I have school. It's a bummer. Junior High sucks, big time. Suddenly you're friends act different, turn your back on you and you don't care. It's lonely. Well, I've finally updated! For those waiting for my other story's update; it will be next week. I haven't died, don't worry. Please update. Ooooh… thanx so much for your reviews. Makes me feel all human and warm.


	5. Graying Leaf in the Corner

The Graying Leaf in the Corner

_I shame had a name, it would be mine_

_If shame lived in a place, it would be in my face_

_Oh, the grievous sinners, do not hide your eyes_

_I am to blame for all of your shame._

The night of the incident with Dudley was, to say the least, awkward. Harry didn't know what to say or do. It had seemed okay a few minutes ago, but now that he looked back at those events, he felt incredibly stupid. He had cried in front of _Dudley_, out of all people! He hugged the boy who had tormented him most of his life! Needless to say, dinner was a joyous affair.

The dinner table was set up perfectly, with a soft tablecloth under plates and pitchers full of pumpkin juice and some other peculiar drink Harry thought he'd never seen before. Harry and Dudley entered the room together, with Dudley sitting across from Harry. Harry ended up sitting next to McGonagall and Hermione, which wasn't fair since they were like two parts of one entity. Ron sat next to Dudley, across from Hermione, and Lena sat across from McGonagall. The stage was set for disaster. The Weasley family, the Dursleys, and Lupin were also present at the table.

Harry timidly picked up a roll when he felt a foot knock against his. Instantly, Harry glared at Dudley who winked at him in response.

"Are you full Harry?" Dudley asked.

"I haven't eaten anything!"

"It's not like you ever do. You play around with all your food except for the desserts; you eat those like you've been starved. So are you done eating?"

"I eat food."

"Really? Eat some of the casserole. You wouldn't want to insult Mrs. Weasley, would you?" Mrs. Weasley seemed to zone in on their conversation all of a sudden. Harry looked at the casserole. It seemed so large, steaming by itself in the middle of the table.

"Dudley, I'm done eating, okay? What do you want?"

"Harry, come on now. Why would you think that I wanted something?"

"You _always _want something."

"You've got a point. This is all a plan to get you in my bed."

"Dudley, you're trying to hide something from me!"

"Not really." Dudley's blue eyes met Harry's green ones. The latter shivered profusely. Dudley wanted out. Harry knew what was going to happen, and he wished he didn't.

"Can we be excused for a second? We'll be right back," Harry said as he left the room, Dudley following him until they were in the hallway with the portrait of Mrs. Black.

"I can't look at them, Harry!" There was an edge in Dudley's tone, a trace of panic in his eyes. He looked away from Harry, his blue eyes darkening. "My father wouldn't tell me what happened. My mom's so fragile I can't even get angry with them for being so… distant! They laugh and share this look, and their eyes are,"

"Alight with love, like giggling teenagers. I know, Dudley. All we can do is wait though, only time can heal some wounds." Harry said softly, thinking about a familiar arc, the silhouette of Sirius falling into the veil, and the voices, calling him.

"But what about the other wounds? Do you think time can heal those? Do you think time can heal the shame and the pain; do you think time can heal the scars in our hearts?" When had Dudley changed? It was like a sudden depth to him had been acquired. Was it because of betrayal? Was it because he had to heal the wounds of bullets, boiling water, and the traitorous actions all by himself?

"Dudley. Does it matter if time can heal those wounds?" Harry didn't know what else to say, he had no other answer to such a question. "As long as we live, there is a chance that we may be healed, and if there is even just a small chance of being whole again and a chance of redemption, then we should keep on living until the end. Don't you agree?"

Dudley was quiet for a moment. He then walked over to Harry and stood close even to Harry that there noses would've touched if they were closer in height.

"I guess I'll keep on living because of you. What would I do without you?" Blue eyes clashed with green eyes. "Don't reject me, Harry." Harry slowly closed his eyes.

"I'm so tired, Dudley. I'm tired of being me, I'm tired of being the problem, of being so alone, and of being whatever I am!" Harry sighed. Dudley spoke, sounding regretful, "Harry, we have to go back soon before they think something's up." Harry's eyes shuttered open, and he seemed to wake up. "Okay." As they walked back into the dining room, silence seemed to reign. Two figures seemed to stand out; Professor Dumbledore staring at him, eyes gray with disappointment (like Hermione's…) and mouth a straight, stern line, and Snape, eyes black like hell's ashes, steaming with an emotion he barely recognized in the potionmaster's eyes: defeat.

"Harry is it true that Voldemort now knows of Severus's status?"

"He doesn't know." Harry said softly. "I lied." Green eyes lifted to look into ancient old ones, and something in him uncurled. He could hear the flutter of wings, thestral wings, and the flutter of a heart, failing, failing, and falling, gone in a moment.

"Harry, how have you been doing lately?" Concern was veiled in clear blue eyes, eyes so unlike Dudley's ones.

"I've never been better." Anger flushed Harry's cheeks.

"You know better to tell a lie concerning Professor Snape in such a crucial time, especially when…"

"Especially when what, Dumbledore? When Snape's life is on the line? I can't seem to find pity in my heart…"

"Harry!" To Harry's surprise, Dudley was the one to stop him. Their eyes met. The shaky fluttering returned before completely dissipating. "It's time to leave. Periwinkles tire us, don't they Harry?" Harry's mouth literally dropped. "You know…" Harry said, shaking. "You finished your end of the deal, Harry, so now I owe you a secret." Dumbledore watched the exchange with an odd flash in his eyes. Harry's vision was filled with black hair, those reddish pupils staring back at him. No! That was for later! A pinch greeted Harry's startled mind. It was Malfoy's owl… it dropped the letter, before flying away. Snape seemed to wake up, and said, "You're writing to my godson then, Potter?"

"Your godson?"

"Draco Malfoy."

"No! Why would I write to him?" It had to remain a secret.

"I think I know my own godson's owl."

"Well maybe you need to get your eyes checked, because it's not Malfoy's owl, you can take my word!"

"Oh and how reliable is your word, Potter? You lie whenever you are angry."

Tortured screaming interrupted this scene. It was loud, inhuman with primal pain, cryptically insane, irksome to hear. Everyone instinctively ran towards the sound to find the portrait of Mrs. Black screaming in pain, holding her forehead, black hair covering her stricken face as she scratched her eyes screaming, "No more, stop it Boy Who Lived! Stop it! STOP IT!" The portrait horrified everyone as it slowly mutated, skin peeling, blood and flesh steaming, bone corroding, arms moving off kilter, sharp nails falling off, screams becoming louder, hair sticky with sweat, clumping thickly because of… blood. Eyes popped from sockets, pink muscle holding the swaying white blob with iris and pupil, nose twisted, becoming waxy, the picture of delusion, pink mouth open, screams becoming raw. Her head crumbled, ashes falling atop a white blob that looked suspiciously like a boiled egg, but Harry soon realized it was another eye. Shivers became him. The portrait warped, and out of it stepped a man. He had black hair, falling neatly around his face, and his irises were vermilion. He was quite attractive, and bore some resemblance to Harry.

"Harry…" his voice was serpentine, and to Harry's horror, he realized that the man before him was _Voldemort_. "I just couldn't wait to see your Avada Kedavra eyes, the color of the light of death. I wasn't planning to visit this early, but I missed you." He walked towards Harry.

"Tom, leave now." Voldemort turned to see Dumbledore, and smiled.

"Harry, I guess I'll talk to you some other time when the guardians aren't at your heels. But remember, it doesn't have to be by fire or water, it can be through…"

"Through what?" Harry asked, before regretting it completely.

"We can talk about that later, so when you sleep, sleep well, and when you dream, dream well. Oh, and here's a present." A snake appeared, eyes white, scales glimmering black.

"Poor Mrs. Black. She thought it was you causing her all the pain, she was begging for redemption. She called you death. If she knew she would help her master past the grave, she wouldn't have been so loud, do you think?" He glanced back at the mangled body in the portrait. "Maybe not." He chuckled before saying, "Goodbye, or should I say God be with ye?"

It was frightening, though he was not frightening to Harry. There was still an odd tremulous fear in Harry's heart, a supernal burn that perhaps was less beauty than shame. He had known from the start who the guy in the dream was, and yet he hadn't totally realized the consequences of such a circumstance. He felt utter hopelessness. This was how he would end. He had lost. Harry was a slave to his heart, and yet his heart was to be ripped apart if he had to… no. That was not something to think about. He had to ignore the creeping arbutus that lay, hidden poison ivy, to gripe at his soul. Oh no, Harry was not frightened. He was ashamed, quaking, and utterly damned. That was not a good feeling.

There were other matters to think about. For one, the reason why Dudley knew about the periwinkles, what the periwinkles were, and the situation that Harry had dubbed as "Losing Marauder;" yet, he couldn't think of anything, for when he had first saw Voldemort walk out the portrait, he had felt at peace. He had missed him as well.

Harry wanted to talk to Mrs. Black's portrait, explain to that woman that he was not the one who had caused her such an awful mutation, a twisted revolution, and to comfort her. There was nothing he could do to ease her eternal pain, nothing at all, and it was his fault once again. Voldemort had done such a twisted thing to the portrait just to visit Harry. It was his fault; all their eyes were grayed with that insane feeling called worry, and Harry knew it was he that was the cause of their pain and discomfort. He wanted to disappear.

Dudley watched Harry's mouth soundlessly drop open, then quickly close as if he had to keep himself in check, and Dudley recognized the emotion carefully disclosed in Harry's eyes: hurt. It was not physical hurt or emotional pain, it was a diffusion of want and sadness, conflicted with happiness and anger towards the very own person's self. Dudley watched that old looking man, by the name of Lupin, cause Harry pain and felt an urge to destroy more than he had since the betrayal.

_And the World Trembles Around Me_

_My world an Impact-Collision_

_Once, twice, shamelessness' price_

_Come, feel, and bleed for my vision!_

Confusion seemed to be most prominent of the emotions for everyone else. Dumbledore spoke.

"So Voldemort knows our meeting place, but what else does he know? Moreover, how much does he know?" His eyes drifted towards Harry. "I wasn't expecting this. Harry, tell us what you know."

"I didn't tell him anything. He was just there for me when I was at the Dursleys. That's all."

"There for you?" Harry nodded.

"Do you care to elaborate?"

"That's what I said and that's what I mean."

"And then, what would fire or by water be?"

"A vision of hell."

"Harry," such morose eyes, so blue like the innermost rim of a violet's petals, focused on him making him feel uncomfortable. It wasn't Dumbledore's fault that so much influence was placed in his wizened hands, and therefore a significant amount trust and expectations. It wasn't Dumbledore's fault that he was but human, forced to play God, that so many young, innocent eyes looked up at their headmaster for guidance, that they grew fond for him, and moreover, was lured into trusting him. He was but a man, and no one wanted a man to be the one pulling the strings, they wanted a faultless person to make the decisions. Before the summer, he had blamed Dumbledore for the incident with the veil, but was it not wrong for Harry to blame him whenever anything went wrong because he hadn't been fast enough, smart enough, great enough, to predict the unforeseen especially when Harry had trusted him enough to almost think him untouchable, and yet not enough to tell him about his dreams? It was cruel. So shouldn't Harry tell Dumbledore the truth to see if trust had been blind of faithful?

"Professor…" Harry could not meet those eyes, so pale and weary, and then Harry realized something. Harry was not ready to play God. He was not ready to pluck his puppet strings from the hands of those playing them. You know what happens when the puppet strings are snapped from the puppet in one tight snap? The puppet collapses. One by one, maybe, but for now he would play his puppeteers' games. He proceeded to tell Dumbledore about the dream, both in generals and specifics.

Dumbledore frowned slightly, but his eyes were twinkling so profusely that Harry felt as if he had done something completely and utterly wrong.

"Fine, then, Harry, I must leave soon. I do believe that you and Severus need to talk alone, though." Harry nodded, defeated, and took one last forlorn glance at the mutilation of a portrait, before following Snape's billowing robes to another room. Snape cast a few spells for security reasons, before turning to face Harry.

Harry noticed to his distaste that Snape still towered over him. With nothing else to look upon, Harry noticed the facets in Snape's face. Delicate eyebrows and a crooked nose surrounded sharp fathomless obsidian eyes. His lips weren't as thin as Harry remembered, but one thing seemed to remain the same. Greasy black hair cascaded down Snape's face.

"Potter. I do not understand why Dumbledore believes there is anything you and I would have to talk about, but since he justifies the most insane ideas when he is ignored, I am here to listen to whatever you must say," his lip curled into a smirk when that comment was met by silence, "Or does snake got your tongue?" Harry's cheeks turned pink at that remark.

"Fine then, I'll talk. It was _wrong _for me look at your pensieve. So, when are you going to get over that grudge against me because of that? Wait, here, we'll be even. I give you free access of my mind for one memory, then this whole mess will be settled, fine?"

"I accept. So now, then, Potter?"

"Now," muttered Harry, rolling his eyes. Suddenly, a sharp assault was made against his mind. An image flashed before him. The periwinkles clouded his vision, making thoughts into cosmic blurs and actions into pain, pain, pain, and dizziness reigned in this cool world, this world of cold metal against a hot, burning-bright human heart, and Harry knew fear. Dudley _knew _what this was. Harry need to know now, before he fell, before he disappeared in that abyss called Insanity…

Snape pulled out of the memory.

"What was _that_, Potter?" Snape asked, voice deadly and cold.

"I d-dunno," Harry said. It was awful; Snape _always_ got to him! He was about to be in his sixth year at Hogwarts, and Snape still could make him stutter. Even Voldemort couldn't make him stutter.

"Dudley said that he would tell me, though." Harry said before wishing he hadn't uttered those words.

"The muggle, your little boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend! Anyway, yes the muggle. If you agree to start up Occlumency with me, then I'll tell you what he tells me." Harry shifted from foot to foot. Snape always made him feel mad, uncomfortable, or awkward. He just couldn't think straight when Snape goaded him, and that always bothered Harry.

Snape stared at him intently, eyes calculating and cool, burning into Harry's green ones.

"Your eyes _are_ like Avada Kedavra, just a bit more girlish. See you tomorrow at 4 a.m. I will not reschedule." Snape said smirking, before disappearing outside of the dorr, closing it behind him while taking apart the spells he had put up.

"Girlish? Girlish? They are not girlish!" Harry spouted off, confused more than anything else. Snape hadn't even agreed to Occlumency! Wait. He had said at 4 a.m. Why would he see him at 4 a.m.? Unless… Occlumency. Harry felt happy; that is, until the time, 4 a.m. sunk into his mind. 4 A.M.!

(())-

Beliefs are precarious things. We all need them to be the idea behind the will and determination and they are made anddeaduponone's birth into the world. Logic is the fundamental of the first beliefs, and those are sometimes the most dangerous, immoral ones. Logic does not apply to everything. The truth was though, Harry was sick of beliefs. What if someone else, well, anyone could kill Voldemort, but they never did because they believed that the Boy-Who-Lived was the only one who could. His parents could have been alive if it weren't for that damnable prophecy. And yet…

And yet he believed all too faithfully in quite an interesting belief. He believed that Voldemort could be saved. That too was a damnable belief.

People died for their beliefs. People had wars for their beliefs, and thought the means was worth the ends. What did wars prove? No one won wars. Everyone lost during them: their faith, their hopes, their dreams, their friends and families, their loved ones, their humanity, and eventually those beliefs that the wars were justly about. Those beliefs were better let go than to be held on, like a summer leaf, to the decaying and graying unto Autumn and then Winter. Those were perversions, though something could be made of them in their completely degraded state.

Yes, today he would know about those periwinkles and why Dudley knew about them. And maybe, today, he would learn why Remus felt that becoming closer to Lena meant terminating their relationship. The truth was, however, that Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know the truth, because his beliefs were his armor. There were some undeniable beliefs. For instance, that cruelty is only cruelty and not power.

Little did he know that Dumbledore did not trust him anymore and that Hermione was crying in some small room in that great mansion of an abode. Little did he know that Ron was cursing his very name now, and tormented by the vision of the fallen Mrs. Black. Yes, his beliefs were his armor, but because they shielded him, he sometimes did not see how other thingswere affecting others. Oh well, he always did trust too easy and believe too hard, and he always, always, always, believed that there was more good than evil in everyone.

That is why he would be the one to take the blame for all the shame.

That is why he could not understand the way Dudley thought of him.

That is why he had hoped, so forcefully, that he could save Voldemort instead of killing him, until he had made himself believe that Voldemort could be saved.

Maybe he should've gotten rid of all his beliefs. They didn't help him now.

_So come meet me at the edge of the creek _

_And watch as I show you my sacrifice complete _

_This renaissance must breakfor the birth ofa dark age_

_Please, oh, please, forgive_ me_ for _your _deceit._

_Ramparts flying_

_Come again_

_This is the beginning _

_The beginning of the end._

Verdesilath

(Miss V)

Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. To tell you the truth, it is actually setting up the events that will happen in the next few chapters. Okay, I haven't updated in awhile. School is harsh. Life is harsher. And there is this evil little thing called: procrastination. Hehehe. I promise a quicker update next time; I'm trying to get back in the swing of things.


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